Princesses Live In Towers
by ArcaFeretory
Summary: "Princesses have sunshine and daisies in their hip pockets. Although most princesses wear pink dresses and the daisies are probably in their hair, not their pockets. " - Another one shot that again, kinda is and kinda isn't at all relevant to anything else I write on the subject. Drabble.


Princesses live in towers. That was a cliché story point that had been true for centuries and remained true even now, after the end of the world. Princesses live in towers and demons are chased by angry villagers with torches and pitchforks. Two things that never changed.

Princesses have sunshine and daisies in their hip pockets. Although most princesses wear pink dresses and the daisies are probably in their hair, not their pockets. They have loving subjects and many cultured friends. They don't swear and they don't do anything improper.

Princesses are graceful and well-mannered beings who never treat a single soul with anything but kindness. They are self-sacrificing, understanding and warm. Princesses are what every young girl to have ever lived aspires to be. The kind of poise and bearing that a confident princess has are but fleeting dreams for young women.

Consequently, anything to break this mould is quite unusual and a point of fascination.

"Truffles," she said in a tone that could only have been meant for cursing. "Spongecake. Peanut brittle. Where the Grod did I put it?" Not the sort of language one might expect from a princess.

Princess Bubblegum (who was wearing a pink dress with no hip pockets to speak of) swept all the papers off her table in a rage. Pencils went flying across the room and clattered against the wall. An inkpot with a mind of its own curved through the air and burst against her sofa, dribbling black ooze down all the pillows thereon.

Still the ringing continued.

_Bleeeepeeee-bleeeep. Bleeeepeee-bleeeepeee-bleep._

Having ripped every article of clothing from her cupboard and littered the floor with an assortment of pastel garments, she was reduced to checking one last place. Bubblegum thudded to her knees and scrabbled under the bed. Dust puffed up and she coughed, but at last her fingers closed around a hard shape and she yanked it from its hole.

Still coughing, she pressed it to her ear and silenced the infernal noise.

"Who is it?' she grumbled, eyeing her now ruined bedroom. It would take her ages to clean up this mess.

"Seriously?" came the reply. "Who else even _calls_ you on this phone, Bonnie?"

Her expression went sour. "Marceline. Do you know what time it is?"

Something made a horrible hissing sound on the other end of the line. "Yeah I know what the time is. It's… wait–" A loud clatter was followed by a screeching that set Bubblegum's teeth on edge. "Yeah," Marceline's voice sounded funny now, but she was always doing something bizarre so Bubblegum thought nothing of it. "It's six thirty. So?"

"So I'm working, Marceline," Bubblegum huffed. "When the phone went off it scared the filling out of me." She ignored the part where her work was scattered across her bedroom floor.

Marceline chuckled and Bubblegum hoped the evil sound to it was just distortion. "You have filling? Why didn't you tell me?"

It was teasing, but Bubblegum still wished she could take the words back. "Whatever. Is there some reason in particular you felt the need to call me on this phone I'd completely forgotten I had?"

Silence followed by more scraping and another loud thump. "Yeah. I helped you with that science biz and you said you owed me. Now, I'm calling it in. Besides, you've been bothering me about this for ages. So get your butt in order, Bon. I'll be over in ten."

"Marceline, I–" Too late, the phone _booped_ and the line cut out. "She hung up. Why that…. Ugh." Bonnibel tossed the phone over her shoulder and the phone bounced back under her bed. Oh yes, the last time Marceline had called she'd done the same thing. Must be a trend.

"M'lady?" came a soft voice at her door.

"Yes Peppermint?"

"Are you alright? There is a meeting in five minutes with the King and Queen of Lu–" He'd just pushed open the door to see the state her room was in. "Will you be ready for them?"

"Twizzlers," she grumbled, eliciting a shocked glance from her butler. She sighed. What were they even doing here so late? Oh that's right, they'd been unable to attend her regular meeting and had requested a later time. It hadn't bothered her then because she rarely had plans in the evening. Well, she rarely had _scheduled_ plans.

"Princess, is something the matter?"

"Just a… conflict of interests, Peppermint," she exhaled. "Nothing I can't sort out."

He lifted one striped eyebrow. "Where did conflicting plans come from?"

"It doesn't matter," she said, mind made up. "I'll be down in just a minute."

Bubblegum knew that Marceline would do exactly as she said, so she changed out of her dress. Whatever plans her friend had made, a dress would not be suitable attire. Not in the least. Instead, she threw on a pair of jeans (conveniently to hand on her floor) and a shirt that was itself probably too frilly. She hid it beneath a hooded pullover and trounced down the stairs.

The Lumpy King and Queen spared her attire only a passing glance. It was technically after her meeting hours so they had no reason to question her choice of dress. Regardless of it being another un-princess like thing.

"Sorry I'm late," she puffed. "The phone rang." She was never late. Punctuality was very important to her. Yet her guests graciously allowed her this one mishap. "What was your dilemma?"

"We are merely worried about our daughter," the King said solemnly. "As her friend, we were hoping you would have something encouraging to tell us. She is still so upset."

As Bubblegum opened her mouth to reply, the doors banged open in a whirling gust. Leaves burst in, dancing about and the doors flailed on their hinges. No one was there, however. Wind howled through the room, overturning chairs, ripping tablecloths from their places, bowling over the guards.

Her hair blew back behind her and the Lumpy Space royals were tumbled about as the vicious currents battered them. It was quite strange that Bubblegum's chair didn't overturn, actually. And even as she watched, shadows leapt across the walls in a most decidedly unnatural way. They seemed to be dancing to the tune of the wind.

Lumpy Queen made a horrendous wailing sound and she and her husband fled through the doors into the rest of the palace. The banana guards, in equal amounts of panic, screamed and followed. As soon as the last guard had left the doors all banged shut and the wind cut off instantly. The shadows on the walls puffed out of existence as if they never were and all returned to normal. As normal as a room that dishevelled could look at any rate.

Bubblegum was thoroughly baffled. What the heck had just happened? Or… well, she was baffled until her crown lifted slowly from her forehead and started spinning around in front of her.

"Marceline," she growled. Her friend shimmered to visibility hanging right before her. The crown was twirling on the end of one long finger.

"Sup, Bonnie? You ready to go?" She had her insolent half smile plastered across her face and wore the most obnoxiously self-satisfied expression Bubblegum had ever seen.

"What are you–?" she shrieked.

Marceline's cackling laughter cut her off. "Just busting you out of _after-hours_ meetings, Bonnie B." She dropped out of the air to sit on the edge of the table. "Now we can split."

"You never did tell me where," Bubblegum grumbled. "And that was _official_ work, Marcy. You can't barge in like that."

Marceline plopped the crown on her head and her half smile became a broad grin. "I'm a queen, babe. I can do what I like."

Bubblegum huffed. That was irrefutable logic and arguing would be pointless. The insufferable vampire had an answer for anything. "You still didn't tell me where we're going."

"And I'm not going to." Marceline grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. "C'mon. You'll see when we get there." With that, Marceline tossed the crown over her shoulder, whipped Bubblegum off her feet and soared out the window. She never used doors.

It was a concert apparently, that she'd been busted out of her meeting to attend. A very loud, low-throbs-in-the-depths-of-your-chest type concert. After an hour of flying and a heated argument with the bouncer so they could get in early, a concert was the big fuss.

Why precisely, Bubblegum wasn't sure until lights began to flash above the stage. Marceline's favourite band; the one whose album she'd given Bonnibel to listen to once. The band Bubblegum had repeatedly asked about. Now here they were.

Marceline's crooked smile shone sharply in the low light, fangs reflecting the fire spouting behind the band. Yeah, so ok, the concert was worth ditching a few hours of work for. Bubblegum, despite herself and her princessyness, enjoyed it; loud ear-shattering riffs, chest drumming beats and all.

At the end of the show, once the lead singer had thanked the audience in an overly loud voice and the audience – in turn – had demanded an encore, cannons were brought out on stage. With booms that rocked the whole stadium, they fired paraphernalia and other assorted merchandise into the crowd. Marceline disappeared from her side momentarily and when she reappeared, descending from above, she had a plastic wrapped bundle between her hands.

She tossed it to Bubblegum before grabbing her around the waist and taking off without a backwards glance. It was incredibly late by this point and despite the blood still pounding in her ears and the slight feeling of having wool stuffed up her nose, Bonnibel was tired. She was only too glad when they landed on her balcony.

Only now did she get the chance to look at the bag Marceline had passed her. One end slipped open and black fabric rolled out. On it was a print of the banner that had been hanging down the back of the stage. Some motif the band used for whatever purpose.

"Figured you should have something," Marceline said softly, staring at the shirt. "You know? To commemorate your first concert. First _proper_ concert," she amended with a wonky grin.

Bubblegum folded the shirt back up and slid it back into its protective plastic. "Thanks, Marcy."

"Yeah, whatever. Get some sleep, Glasses." Her feet lifted from the balcony and she soared away. Just like that.

Fingers fiddling with the plastic, she watched her friend disappear into the night. She lifted the bag to her nose and pressed it against her face. Cloth eased free of the plastic and it smelt like Marceline. She sighed.

That night, instead of dressing in her usual (princess appropriate) nightgown for bed, Bonnibel pulled on a pair of pastel pink shorts and the black band shirt. More things not suitable for a princess. But the shirt was cool, soft and rough in the same paradoxical ways as her friend. It smelt like grass and lavender and spring rain, just like her friend.

Lying in her well-padded bed with the sheets down around her knees because it was a warm night, this night, she stared out the window of her tower. The balcony door was always unlocked and the curtains were always pulled back. Because high in a tower, what does a princess have to fear but her own inner demons?

She stared out that window, fingers tangled in the confused black fabric of her shirt and she waited. That's what princesses trapped high in towers do, you know. They wait. They wait for as long as they have to – for five hundred years sometimes – and they wait knowing that one day, with any luck, their saviour will appear silhouetted against the moon of their balcony. That shadowy shape, whirling with eddies of darkness will reach out and smile and take her away to somewhere better, somewhere nicer.

Because that's what princesses in towers do. They wait for their hero to save them. They stare longingly out of windows and daydream about happily-ever-afters. And despite her somewhat unconventional language, behaviour and the occasional wardrobe discrepancy, Bonnibel Bubblegum was a princess.

And so she waited.


End file.
